Afterlife
by Adam Shmadam
Summary: An operation goes horribly wrong, and Harry may not have the opportunity to improve his timing.
1. Chapter 1

His life hadn't flashed before his eyes; there was no bright light to move towards, but Harry Pearce was certain that _this_ time he was dying. He wasn't even sure what had happened exactly. His brain hadn't processed the gunshot until after he had hit the pavement – hard.

It was taking a lot longer than he thought. He wondered if it had been this way for Jo – he had consoled himself by presuming that death had come quickly for her, but now he wasn't so sure. The pressure in his chest was unbearable; every breath he drew took supreme effort. He could taste his own blood, smell it on the ground beside him. Death was far from peaceful, he thought. An unrelenting din filled his head, but he had neither the strength nor particular inclination to try to differentiate the sounds.

He had never been particularly religious, but he had always somewhat envied those who were, those who could trust in something implicitly. There had been too many betrayals given and received in his life to trust in anything, well, nearly anything. He could understand people's need to believe in some sort of afterlife, the comforting idea that there was something beyond their seemingly random and purposeless lives. But for Harry, the idea of any sort of afterlife was the opposite of comforting. Spending an eternity with those he had let down in life was too horrible to contemplate. There was his father, who in the midst of his own profound grief over the loss of his wife, had to deal with the recklessness of his elder son. Or Ben, who had died in a random accident, never understanding why his brother with whom he had once been so close suddenly became so cold and distant to the point of being cruel, never knowing that his brother was just trying to protect him. Then there was the long line of colleagues, who trusted in him to their cost. Had he chose differently, they could have lived, been happy…

He coughed violently, and the effort sent a wave of pain through his chest. The pain was excruciating; it was taking so long. _Poor Zaf._ _He probably felt like this for weeks, maybe months._ He can't breathe any longer. _It won't be long now. I'm sorry, Ruth…_

A strong pair of hands grabs him by the lapels and hauls him upright, and he only becomes aware of this because suddenly he can breathe again, albeit with difficulty. He's also vaguely aware of a familiar voice above the cacophony of his head.

"Dimitri…?"

"I'm here. Emergency services are four minutes away. Can you hold that?"

He concentrates and tries to focus on what's going on. Something is pressed up against the wound, and he instantly realizes that that his pain _can_ get worse. In his blurry vision, he sees the hint of a smile on his young officer's face.

"You would've made a great sailor with vocabulary like that, sir."

He tries to smile back, but he's not sure if he's succeeding. Suddenly, he's very tired, more exhausted than he's ever been. Reality starts to fade away, and he can't help but close his eyes.

"Harry, hang on."

It makes perfect sense to him that an angel would have a voice like Ruth Evershed.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note: A short addition – more soon, I promise! Sorry to take so long in updating, real life has gotten in the way of writing. Reviews make me happy. Hope you enjoy!**_

She thought that he was already gone by the time she got to him. Eyes closed, his face ashen, and the amount of blood on the pavement was appalling. The panic that was rising within her abated slightly when she heard his labored breathing. Without a word, she knelt down and took Dimitri's place putting pressure on the wound.

"Harry, hang on." __

His eyes were closed, but she thought she saw the briefest of smiles cross his face. She was in an awkward position, and maneuvered herself so she was sitting beside him, using more leverage to try and stem the bleeding.

Dimitri and a second impossibly young officer from another section had efficiently cleared the area and were now a discreet distance away. So, they sat there pressed against each other in the strange stillness, quiet except for his ragged breathing. At the moment, it seemed to her the best sound in the world.

"Ruth…I'm…"

She was awestruck at the sheer force of will it must have taken for him to try to speak, much less manage some coherent words.

"Harry, don't. Save your strength. I mean it."

The last sentence came as he opened his eyes to protest. He fixed her with a look of infinite sadness, briefly, and then closed his eyes again. A sirens' peal could be heard in the distance.

"This is nice," he spoke again without opening his eyes, quickly adding,

"Well, apart from bleeding all over you."

He smiled weakly, and she reflexively touched his cheek.

"Don't you dare die on me, Harry Pearce."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Author's Note: Thanks for all the reviews! Hope you enjoy…**_

Ruth hated hospitals, even when she had worked in one. No matter how much time went by, she always associated them with her father and all the months she spent watching him slowly and painfully wither away from the cancer that took him away far too soon. She wondered what he would have made of Harry, and after a moment's consideration concluded that they probably would have got on well, having the same dry sense of humour.

So, she waited. There was a part of her that questioned the wisdom of being there at all; not being next of kin, no one would tell her anything about his condition anyway – but there was a larger, more insistent part of her that needed to be near him. She had never been very religious, but during those hours in the cheerless waiting room, she prayed.

Some hours later, she was jolted out of her reverie by a steaming cup placed beside her.

"I thought you could use this," Dimitri said as he sat down beside her.

"Thanks."

They sat in silence for a bit, Ruth toying with the styrofoam cup without drinking.

"He's going to be alright, Ruth. You know there's no one more stubborn."

She smiled slightly.

"That's true."

She contemplated the cup before her.

"Sweet tea?"

"Yeah. Is that OK?"

She bit her lip and tried hard not to start crying but was unsuccessful. Dimitri, at a loss, put his arm around her shoulder. After a few minutes of softly sobbing, she pulled herself together.

"I'm sorry."

"There's nothing to apologize for."

"I've wasted so much time, Dimitri, and I'm not even sure why anymore."

"It's not easy to let go and trust someone, especially in our line of work."

She looked sideways at him. He continued with a chuckle,

"Why do you think I'm single?"

"Why _are_ you single?"

"Haven't found the right person yet, I suppose…" He suddenly looked very uncomfortable.

A doctor entered, preventing Ruth from inquiring further.

"Ms. Evershed?"

"Yes?"

"If you could come with me, please. I'd like to talk to you about Sir Harry."

Dimitri gave Ruth's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before she followed the doctor out of the room.


	4. Chapter 4

Time didn't exist. It could have been only a few minutes; it may have been days, there was just no way of knowing. There was just a fog of pressure and dull pain. After a great deal of concentration, he could only conclude that he wasn't dead – at least not yet at any rate. He wasn't sure what had happened; his memories were vague at best, but based on the familiar pain in his chest he concluded he must have been shot. He had a vague impression of Ruth, and suddenly panicked_. Had she been with him? Was she hurt as well? Or worse?_ With all the strength he could muster, he tried to rise. His body was on fire, but he was almost sat up before a horrified nurse realized what was happening.

"Sir Harry?"

He felt a pin prick in his neck, and almost instantly all was silence and blackness again.

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

Ruth's mind was reeling as she sat down across the desk from the doctor. The only explanation she could come up with was that Harry, at some point, had designated her as next of kin, and that thought humbled her.

"How is he?" Her heart was pounding.

"Not too badly, considering he was shot though the chest. He lost a great deal of blood. His right lung did collapse and we very nearly lost him then. He's still not completely out of danger. We have him on a ventilator right now."

"Can I see him?" A weight had been lifted off of her shoulders.

"I don't see why not, although he's not very talkative. We've had to put him under heavy sedation for the time being."

The sight of Harry lying in that hospital bed was both one of the most gratifying sights she had ever seen. _He's alive_. His body was a mass of tubes and wires, but the fact remained that he was still alive. She took hold of his hand, feeling the reassuring warmth underneath his skin, and leaning down, kissed him softly on the forehead.

"Thank you for fighting, Harry."


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: I meant to have updated this long before now – this chapter's been kicking around in my head for awhile – but work started up again this week and life got in the way. I love reviews!

She was there. He couldn't tell if it was reality or just his fevered imagination, but she was a constant throughout. It was beyond the ability for him to distinguish words, but there was still the soothing lilt of her voice, an anchor of calm amidst the chaos. A dull pain coursed through his body, and his throat burned. He was so very tired, but his mind continued to race. In a short period of near wakefulness, he thought he felt a soft hand on his before he tumbled into oblivion again.

Sensations gradually became more distinct; sounds started to sort themselves out in his head. A door kept opening and closing in the distance. Hushed whispers. His pain became sharper, but in an odd way it was comforting to be able to feel anything beyond the dull anarchy. He thought of his children and wondered how they were, if they would see him. He tentatively opened his eyes, but the effort exhausted him and they closed before he could register anything more than vague shadows.

It was sometime later when he opened his eyes again. This time, he forced himself to focus. He was rewarded with the sight of Ruth, sitting in a chair beside his bed, fast asleep. In the quiet stillness he watched her sleep, rememorizing her features. She seemed so peaceful, and he mentally cursed every time he heard a noise in the distance that had the potential to wake her. He noted with a heavy heart little lines of worry on her face, and he would've given anything in that moment to see her smile, as she often used to do. It was hard to not fall in love with Ruth Evershed after having seen that smile like the one she gave him, bathed in the glow of her desk lamp when he returned to the Grid after his suspension. No, it had happened long before that. He lost his heart so gradually that it was gone before he knew it. He had often imagined how it would be to watch her sleep, and in his head it was under very different circumstances. Anger suddenly overtook him. She had said that they don't deserve that kind of life. Whyever not? Surely their sacrifices entitled them to grab whatever bit of happiness they could muster, knowing that any day could be their last.

She stirred, and opening her eyes was surprised to see a familiar hazel gaze on her.

"Hey you," she said with a wan smile.

A tear escaped the corner of his eyelid. He tried to speak, but the breathing tube, still down his throat, made that impossible. He started to struggle, but she stilled his hands.

"Harry, please. It's alright. I know…I know it's painful, but you need to trust us. Harry…"

He blinked slowly, and clasped her hands tightly.

At that moment, a doctor strolled in, looking very pleased with himself.


	6. Chapter 6

She had meant to get herself a decent meal, a long shower, and some sleep in her own bed. But she no sooner closed the door behind her than she slid to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably. She had been tested these last forty-eight hours, and now that she was at home, the floodgates had opened and relief, anger, regret, and worry washed over her.

When Harry had woken up in hospital, she tried to get him to rest, but he was stubborn, so they just sat together, drinking in one another's presence. Softly, she would talk to him, and he would try to blink a response. A well-meaning nurse managed to track down a wipe-off board and a dry erase marker. It didn't take long for the heel of his hand to be blackened from rubbing out his words. He wanted to know what happened, if anyone else had been injured or killed. The information from the few texts she received from the Grid was enough to reassure him that he was the only casualty and the gunman had been caught.

"It appears that he was targeting the Foreign Secretary. So, it looks like he owes you a favor."

"_Another one_," he wrote. There was the faintest of glimmers in his eye.

"You look tired."

"_OK_. _Could say the same of you_."

"Charmer."

"_Lot of good it does me_."

They were silent for awhile, neither knowing how to say what they wanted to. After a few moments, he raised the marker again.

"_Tube Out_," he had written.

"Not yet, Harry."

"_Please."_

She had never seen him look so lost in that moment, but it was impossible. The doctors, although cautiously optimistic, were openly surprised that Harry hadn't arrived on their doorstep as a corpse. There was still a very real danger that his lung could collapse again, and the ventilator was preventing that from happening. She knew that it was also extremely painful. He vehemently rejected her suggestion of painkillers or a sedative. As he put a second exclamation mark after "No!", a tear threatened to escape her eyelid.

"You're not invincible, Harry," her voice quavering slightly.

He suddenly felt ashamed. How long had he been there? Two days? Three? More? He doubted very much that she had slept or eaten much in all that time, and here he was being a bully when all she was doing was worrying about him. He reached up a hand, and softly stroked her cheek with his thumb. When she met his eye again, he wrote,

"_I'll behave, I promise."_ He rubbed it out then continued,

"_Go home. Rest_."

A few minutes later, once the door closed behind her, he slowly wrote down a few more words before quickly obliterating them with his hand.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Author's note: Thank you all for the lovely reviews – I hope this continues to live up to your expectations! I would love a review! Next chapter will be soon… **_

Harry Pearce had the capacity for almost infinite patience under certain circumstances. Early in his career he often spent days conducting surveillance under horrible conditions without batting an eyelid. He could take months of painstaking effort cultivating lower-level assets in the hopes of some future bit of intelligence. Although disappointed, when Ruth had refused a second date all those years ago, he didn't panic. He felt sure with a little time and some gentle reassurance he could convince her to reconsider. Then Cotterdam happened, and everything crashed to pieces.

In his present circumstances, Harry was far from patient. He longed to be home, away from painful breathing tubes and the drugs that dulled his mind. He wanted Ruth. He tried not to hope too much when he thought about her, but was failing spectacularly. _Pity is not the same as love_, he kept telling himself. But there was something in her eyes that he refused to let go of. His current frustration was compounded by the fact that it was difficult to have a satisfactory argument with someone when the only means of communication were a clipboard and pen. The doctors were adamant about not removing the ventilator for at least another day. So he fumed like a petulant schoolboy.

She slept the dreamless sleep of the bone weary. It's late in the afternoon by the time she emerges from under her duvet, and she immediately resists the urge to go and see him. _He'll be more inclined to rest without any visitors_, she thinks. The truth of the matter is she is not sure what to say to him anymore. Although she's rested, she's restless, and she can't settle down to anything but watch the progress of the sunset from outside her upstairs window. For a brief moment, the sunlight reflects an almost unearthly glow off of the rain-soaked pavement before the light fades and the street is enveloped in grey twilight. She sits in the gathering darkness for a few minutes before the phone ringing brings her back to reality. It's Dimitri, calling to check on her. She tells him she'll be back to the Grid soon, there's just one stop she has to make first. He knows exactly what she means.

He is fast asleep when she gets there, and even her unpracticed ear can tell that his breathing is a little less labored than it was when she left. She goes to put the books she's brought for him on the table, and sees that Catherine has left a lengthy note for her father, a fact that makes her inexplicably happy. She sits and watches him for a few moments, before he starts to stir ever so slightly. She's tempted to stay, but he needs sleep. Halfway to the door, she turns around and returning, softly kisses his forehead.

"Sweet dreams, Harry."


	8. Chapter 8

Ruth hadn't seen the light of day for nearly two days. Reports had backed up while she was away from the Grid, and there was still a great deal of fallout from the near-assassination of the Foreign Secretary to deal with. Late in the afternoon, Dimitri approached Ruth's desk.

"I'm still waiting on that report from Section G, Dimitri."

"Go see him."

"But I need…"

"…to go see him."

"But Erin…"

"…has plenty to deal with right now without," here he picked up a dog-eared bundle of papers from her desk, "_A Summary Report of the Current Threats Against the Nation's Transportation Infrastructure_. Tariq and I can deal with Erin. Go."

"Thank you." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and shot through the pods before the young spook could react.

She was surprised to find the door to Harry's room was open when she arrived. Inside, a nurse was making the bed and another was making notes on a clipboard. But standing beside the bed, without breathing tube, was Harry. He was barefoot, clad in some striped pajamas, his hair ruffled, with an uncharacteristic shadow of stubble on his face, and the sight nearly brought tears of joy to her eyes.

"Hi." His voice was raspy, barely above a whisper. She could imagine how much it hurt to talk.

"Hi." She suddenly felt shy.

The nurse with the clipboard looked up.

"Your husband's progressing nicely."

"Yes, I can see that."

The words hung in the air between them, their eyes never leaving the other. Harry tried, and failed, to suppress a grin. She moved closer, trying not to stare at his unbuttoned pajama top.

"How are you?"

"A little shaky, but OK…I'm glad to see you."

A blush crept into her cheeks.

"I'm sorry…The Grid…"

"I know." He was still grinning, and it was unnerving her. He swayed a bit, and she reflexively reached out to steady him, realizing only too late that she had grabbed him right above his wound.

"Oh God, Harry…"

"It's alright, Ruth. I think they put enough bandage to stop another bullet."

"I'd rather we not test that out," she answered gravely.

"I'm sorry," he said in a gravelly whisper. He bowed his head until his forehead was touching hers.

"Another five minutes, then he really needs to get back to bed," the clipboard nurse informed them before darting out of the room. Neither had remembered she was still there until then.

Embarrassed, her first instinct was to step back, but she's aware of Harry's precarious balance, and there's a part of her that's loath to move. His legs weaken rapidly, and as much as he wanted this moment with her to never end, he knows it will come to a screeching and undignified halt if he knocks her to the floor. He shifted slightly.

"You OK?" she asked.

"Actually…"

She understood immediately, and slowly helped him back to the bed. By the time he's settled, his forehead is moist with sweat. They talk for awhile; she updates him with news from the Grid, while he mostly just watches her. He hasn't stopped grinning.

"What?" she finally asks.

"You didn't correct her."

"Neither did you."

"You know why."

She's suddenly very quiet, and he's worried that he's said too much, again. Then she takes his hand and smiles back at him.


	9. Chapter 9

The car slowly wound its way through the rain-soaked streets. She was driving with more care than was really warranted for the time of day, but the road and the traffic gave her something to concentrate on other than her passenger. Harry had been discharged from hospital that afternoon, and she was bringing him home.

When she came to collect him, his appearance surprised her a bit. He had shaved, and she was startled to find that she had gotten used to his stubble. He was steadier on his feet, but it was apparent that he was still weaker than he would have liked. His clothes hung loosely on his frame, the result of days of nourishment being delivered via IV. He greeted her with a shy smile, and she was happy to hear that his speech was much less raspy and closer to his usual deep voice.

His discharge instructions were simple enough: rest, take painkillers, and come back if you feel dizzy, have trouble breathing, or start bleeding. The doctor pointedly looked at Ruth when he told Harry to "avoid strenuous exercise". Although bemused, Harry had the good grace to defuse her embarrassment with a joke.

"Do I look like I exercise, doctor?"

Harry was quiet, and it unnerved her. Between her work and a steady stream of visitors and other interruptions at the hospital, they hadn't much opportunity to really talk. Now they were finally alone and in his house. She hastily picked up the post from the mat, and put his bag near the stairs.

"Would you like some tea?" he asked.

"I'll get it if you'd like. You go settle in."

Before he could protest, she darted to the kitchen, and rather than go into the living room, he followed and watched her from the kitchen doorway as she ferreted in his cupboards. It was such a domestic scene, and his heart sang at the sight of it. On the ride home he had sensed her growing unease, but was unsure what to do about it. He had a lot of time to think recently and he concluded a few days ago that he needed to be patient, and let her analyst brain work things out. Then they could talk properly. The problem was he wasn't feeling particularly patient, especially now. Especially when he thought of all the time they had wasted.

She tried to ignore the fact that he was staring at her, but of course, that was impossible. The more she thought about not fidgeting, the more she fidgeted. It was so easy to slip into the old habits of burying feelings, she thought. Except this time when she was tempted to bolt, the indelible image of Harry near death on the pavement brought her up.

He moved close, and ever so slowly, as if not to startle her, kissed her, his hands on either side of her face. After a moment, he pulled away slightly, and she found herself once again forehead to forehead with him. Unconsciously, her arms had wrapped around his waist, and something that Lucas said to her once floated into her mind: _Be brave_.

So softly, that she felt rather than heard it, Harry whispered,

"Stay."


	10. Chapter 10

Author's Note: This story has taken on a life of its own – in my head, I had envisioned 4, maybe 5 chapters…certainly not 10+! But it's satisfying to be fluffy when right now S10 speculation and spoilers are making me nervous! Won't you feed my addiction for reviews?

The remains of the takeaway covered the coffee table.

"I should clean up."

"Leave it. A few more minutes."

She didn't move from her position on the sofa, but that didn't stop him from taking her hand again, gently rubbing her knuckles with his thumb. He closed the short distance between them and kissed her lips again softly.

_He can be very persuasive_, she thinks. But he always was, and that no doubt is part of the reason he's so good at his job. She remembers how close she was to saying "yes" when he had proposed on that bright day in the churchyard. Her eyes cloud over at the recollection, and he starts worrying again. For two not very emotionally forthright people, they've spent the last several hours talking, laughing, and crying, slowly unwinding the truth from one another's hearts. Despite this, he's still unsure of himself and she senses this uncharacteristic hesitation and it makes her remorseful.

She pulls her hand away, but before he can misinterpret the action, she kisses him soundly, leaving him with no more doubts. It is some time before they pull apart.

"Harry, I'm sorry…wasted so much time…"

He stills her hands firmly.

"Don't," his voice has an almost angry edge to it. "Don't you dare apologize, Ruth. You're here, _we're_ here now, and that's what matters. If anything, I should be apologizing to you…" She opened her mouth to protest, but he continued,

"I should never have let you get on that bloody boat to begin with…or I could have at least believed you when you had your suspicions about Lucas."

"You felt guilty about what had happened to him, and you trusted him."

"But I should have trusted you more. I suppose I was still hurting…and not acting on your information was a way, however unconscious, of punishing you for refusing me."

"Harry…"

"No. He nearly killed you, because I was petty."

They were silent for awhile, the only sound was the rain continuing to fall outside. She was curled up beside him on his good side, head on his shoulder.

"This is nice," she said.

"Hmm. And I'm not even bleeding on you this time."

He thought that he could never get tired of that smile. It was getting late, and what to do now hovered in both their minds. She got up, and stared to clear the dinner things. Bereft of her warmth beside him, he joined her.

"I'll be just a minute," she said, and with a squeeze of his hand, she was gone. He heard his door open and shut, then a minute later open and shut again. He found her in his front hallway with an overnight bag at her feet, putting away a wet umbrella. At his surprised look, she merely said,

"What kind of spy would I be without a change of clothes at the ready?"

He was silent and she suddenly thought that maybe she had gone too far. The truth of the matter was that he was offering up a prayer of thanksgiving, and if he had been able to in his current condition, he would have scooped her up in his arms and carried her to his bed. Instead, he slowly took her hand and led her upstairs. It wasn't until a few moments later that Ruth began to get nervous again. She always preferred analyzing the situation thoroughly before making any decisions, and now there she was, teeth brushed and pajama-clad, in the doorway of Harry's bedroom, feeling like a ridiculous teenager.

"Ruth?"

He emerged from the bathroom, clad in blue pajama bottoms, the bandage around his torso apparent under a t-shirt. She reflexively noted that he really looked good in blue. They both contemplated the bed before them, and Harry was glad that he had taken the time to make the bed before work all those days ago.

"What side of the bed do you sleep on?"

"What side do you sleep on?"

"I asked you first." He has a twinkle in his eye.

"The middle, to be honest."

"Me too." They are both chuckling now.

After some initial maneuvering, they settle in, her back against his chest and his hand on her hip. His warmth is comfortable, until she suddenly has a prick of conscience.

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"I'm fine, Ruth. Don't worry." He pulled her just a little bit closer.

"I can't help but worry about you."

"I know. That's one of the many reasons why I love you."

"Say that again."

"I love you, Ruth. Now get some sleep." He kissed the back of her neck.

"Goodnight, Harry. I love you." She settled a little deeper against him, and they both fell asleep to the sound of the rain on the roof.


	11. Epilogue

Sipping her coffee near the open window, she watched the early morning sun creep across the Roman skyline. Despite their travels, she hasn't broken her usual habit of waking early. She's watching him unabashedly as he sleeps. When he stirs, his latest scar is revealed, and she notices that it is fading to match all the others.

She was apprehensive about this trip at first. People are rarely at their best while traveling, especially on an open-ended trek across Europe. This trip was a dream of his, and she didn't want to disappoint him but he had been maddeningly unconcerned about it.

"_You can steal all the covers from here to Istanbul, and I won't care_."

He stirs again, and this time she can tell he's awake, although he doesn't open his eyes.

"Come back to bed, Ruth." His voice is hard to resist when sleepiness makes it deeper than usual.

So, she finds herself in the now-familiar position of being enveloped in his arms. She feels very indulgent, for this has been their life over the last few weeks; waking up together, then deciding what to do for the day, and at night, collapsing into one another's arms again. Some days they play the tourist and see the usual sights, on others they avoid the crowds and merely wander or take a book to a park or riverbank. She still blushes at the memory of those first few days in Paris when they didn't even leave their suite.

He calls Catherine at least once a week, and she calls the Grid, although he pretends he doesn't know that she does, in much the same way that she pretends she doesn't know that he scans the British papers every few days. At some point, they will go home and back to work, but for now they are content.

He's kissing along her collarbone achingly slowly, and if this continues, it could be Paris all over again.

"What would you like to do today?" she asks, slightly breathless.

A grin is his reply.

"Harry…"

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

She had expected to be impressed, but when she finally saw the Sistine Chapel, it took her breath away. They lingered there longer than most; the tour groups had moved on after making their predictable "oohs" and "ahhs". They had wandered apart; but she spotted his familiar shoulders in front of Michelangelo's _Last Judgment_. Some time later she looked around and he was still there. She came up beside him, and before she could make a comment, he took her hand, and brought it to his lips and held it there. Although affectionate, Harry was rarely this demonstrative in public. As he looked back at the immense fresco, she noticed a tear in the corner of his eye.

"Harry?"

He didn't immediately speak, but just held her hand, playing with the rings there.

"When Lucas…John…held you and you thought you were dying, what…?" his voice trailed off.

She thought of the sudden panic, the struggle against the needle, and the words trying to calm her.

"I thought of you. What an idiot I had been. How you would cope…but once the drugs took effect, it was just like going to sleep, really. When you arrived, it took a few seconds to realize I wasn't dreaming."

He kept his eyes riveted to the figures in front of them, although he kept her hand in his. She followed his gaze. Men, women, demons, angels, all swirling around the Christ in the center, in the throes of their last moments, full of awe and regret. Even the saints and those who were to be saved looked fearful.

"I welcomed it," he said after awhile.

"I was a coward… "

"No, Harry. You may be a lot of things, infuriatingly stubborn comes to mind, but never a coward. Everything you have done, it's never been out of your own self-interest. You fight like no one else I have ever seen, and despite all the losses, you still fight. That's one of the many things I love about you."

They continued to stare at the fresco, marveling at its brilliance, and reminiscing about fallen friends.

"Do you think there's an afterlife?" he asked.

"I don't know, but I intend to make the most of this one."

Her smile melted his heart in that moment. She started to chuckle.

"What?"

"If there _is_ an afterlife, I've no doubt whatsoever that Ros is probably running the place by now."


End file.
